


Beggar's Night

by Lywinis



Series: And Maggie Makes Three -- A Capsicoul Alternate Universe [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Maggie-verse, kid-verse, non-canon compliant cellist, post Age of Ultron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 11:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2546084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lywinis/pseuds/Lywinis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil takes Maggie, his daughter, trick-or-treating.</p><p>(Part of the Maggieverse.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beggar's Night

“Remember, keep her bundled up,” Holly said. “It’s supposed to get cold tonight. No sugar after nine, she won’t sleep. And no junk food, just a little bit of candy. We’re trying to keep a healthy eating habit going, Phil. Jerry and I want to see her succeed. Don’t countermine me, okay?”

“I’ve got it, Holly.” Phil helped Maggie out of the car and collected her suitcase. “I’m her dad, you can trust me to know what’s best.”

“…you fed her leftover pizza,” she said, her voice flat. “Two-week old leftover pizza. Come on, Phil, just…don’t fight me on this for once.”

“Look, I promise, we’ll be good as gold, won’t we, Doodlebug?” Phil asked. Maggie beamed up at him, throwing her arms around his waist. “See? Just a bit of bonding between father and daughter. Trick-or-Treating in the Upper East Side, until eight, it’s well lit and there’s a huge group of everyone going. Okay?”

Holly sighed. “Remember what I said about candy intake. I’m going to trust you, Phil.”

“You won’t regret it.”

“That’ll be a first,” Holly muttered, before smiling brightly at her daughter. “Mommy loves you, Maggie! Papa Jerry will be by to pick you up at three sharp on Sunday, okay? Be good!”

“Yes, Mommy,” Maggie said, her little face turned into Phil’s side. “I’ll be good.”

Holly roared off in her minivan, and Phil watched her go, his lips twitching up in an almost-sneer. Instead, he smiled down at Maggie, forcing himself back into cheerfulness.  
  
“Guess what?” he asked.

“What?”

 “Who did you want to go as this year?”  
  
Maggie’s eyes rounded to the size of dinner plates. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” Phil said. “I designed the costume, I just had to sew it a little smaller for you.”

Maggie cheered and raced her father up the apartment’s stoop, pounding up the stairs to the fourth floor.

“Can I wear it now?” she asked.

“You have homework?” Phil asked. Maggie sagged. He grinned, turning the key in the lock. “Of course you can wear it now. I’m your dad, not a monster.”

Maggie burst into the apartment, snatching up her costume and running to her room to put it on, leaving Phil to stew over the phrase “Papa Jerry”.

* * *

At precisely five thirty, Captain America and Black Widow left their base, joining the hordes of parents and children out for the evening. They blended in well together, Black Widow’s smaller stature allowing her to weave through the crowd, and Captain America’s watchful eye to keep track of her in the throng.

Several mothers watched him pass, eyes on his behind, but he paid them no mind, his gaze only for the shock of red hair that bobbed around the crowd.

Closer to six, the crowds began to disperse, so they made an alternate battle-plan. A friend of the Captain’s was taking her kids around Brooklyn. That meant they were needed elsewhere.

Hand in hand, they walked to the closest subway.

* * *

Steve had been handing out candy for hours, and he’d been loving all the little faces coming to his door. Usually, he’d be out volunteering with the fire department, walking to keep the kids safe, but this year had changed. Bucky was curled up on his couch, watching TV, and Steve wanted to keep him company. Clint had stopped by with a case of beer, dressed in foil (calling himself Ultron, which Steve thought in poor taste considering), and they were watching crummy horror movies and talking.

His friend had expressed no real interest in dressing up, but then, Buck had never been real big on Halloween.

Steve hadn’t been either, growing up hard in the Depression, but he knew it was important for kids to be kids. So he’d rolled himself in toilet paper, bought as much candy as he could on short notice, and had a big bucket by the door.

The knockers had been getting sparser to his townhouse, but he still was getting up every twenty minutes or so. By seven-thirty, it had slowed. He was munching a piece of taffy (hey, he was ninety-five, not _dead_ ) when the door went again. He rose and opened it, smiling down at the little Black Widow.

(He’d counted about eight tonight, but they still warmed his heart. He’d taken pictures with his cell and planned to send them to Natasha, along with all the Hawkeyes, Hulks, Iron Men and Thors – not to mention the Captains – he’d seen.)

He took a knee, grinning, and was struck by the blue-grey of the little girl’s eyes. She was a cute little thing, with wisps of blonde hair peeking out from underneath the red of her wig (which was as close to the actual red of Natasha’s hair as he’d ever seen). He reached into the bucket to get her some candy, when he heard Clint moved to the door behind him, his foil rustling.

The little girl’s eyes rounded, and then she barreled past him, yelling something garbled, throwing herself at Clint’s knees.

Steve was up and turning before he registered “Uncle Hawkeye” and then he glanced back at the door, looking for a parent. He caught sight of a Captain America striding up to the stoop to retrieve his daughter, and he opened the door wider.

The Captain caught sight of his face, and there was a miniscule hesitation before Steve moved to let the man retrieve his daughter. Clint was bouncing her on his hip, grinning and chattering at her, the little girl replying in a mix of speech and halting sign.

“Oh, Clint,” said the Captain, and Steve’s head whipped around to study the face under the cowl. It was Phil Coulson, the once-Director of SHIELD, now back to field agent in the wake of the Ultron mishap. “I didn’t realize you were out tonight.”

“Yeah,” Clint said with a grin. “Didn’t realize you were shrinkin’ Nat to come out.”

Phil chuckled. “I sewed that costume for months.”

“It shows,” Steve said, and Phil stiffened a little. “Hi, Phil.”

“Captain Rogers,” Phil said. Steve didn’t want to seem rude. He slung an arm around Phil’s shoulders, leading him more inside.

“You want a cider?” he asked.

“Oh, we can’t stay,” Phil said, reddening. “We’ve got six more blocks to do.”

“Nah, we got this,” Clint said. “It’s my job as official Hawkeye to collect all the Natashas.”

He tickled the little girl and she shrieked laughter. Bucky startled in the next room, and Steve hushed them gently.

“You sure, Clint?” Steve asked.

Clint nodded. “It ain’t Beggars’ Night, but I wanna stretch my legs anyway. And Phil could do with a break. So me an’ Maggie’ll hit Rutland and Flatbush and I’ll collect her enough candy to piss Holly off real good.”

Phil gave a long suffering sigh. “All right. Back in one hour.”

“Of course, boss-man, like I’d do anything less.” Clint winked and tossed Maggie over his shoulder. Steve turned and caught Bucky watching from the doorway.

“Cute kid,” Bucky grunted, then padded back to the couch. Steve tugged Phil into the kitchen.

“Is…she yours?” Steve asked, hesitant. Phil nodded, pushing back the cowl on his uniform. Steve could see it better in the kitchen light now, and it was an exact replica of his, down to the stitching. Phil had recreated this himself; there wasn’t any other way to explain the detail.

“She’s my daughter,” he said. “Her mother has custody, because SHIELD isn’t exactly a stable lifestyle, but I’m trying to get her. The courts want something more home based, and while I hate it, I’m trying to get Maria to bust me down to a desk job.”

“So that’s why you withdrew from Director,” Steve murmured.

“One of many reasons,” he said. “I, uh, sorry about the intrusion. Clint and Natasha are the only two within the organization that know about her, other than HR.”

“It’s fine,” Steve said, smiling. He’d liked the little girl from the start, and now that he knew whose daughter she was, the way the blue-grey eyes caught him had made sense. He stared into them now, a little more caught. “You, uh, want a cider?”

“Uh, sure.” Phil shuffled and smiled down at his toes.

“Nice costume,” Steve said, retrieving chilled bottles from the fridge. He handed one to Phil after cracking open the cap – he’d seen how awkward the gloves had been, had known how much tactile sensation they lacked.

“Thanks. Sorry, I just…I go as something to match her every year,” he said, glancing away.

“I like it,” Steve said, smiling. Seeing Phil in his colors was an amazing experience, really. He ran his thumb along the seam of his shoulder. “Looks real good.”

“Thanks.” Phil took a nervous drink of his cider.

“You wanna come sit with Buck an’ me?” he asked. “We’re watchin’ Tales from the Crypt. Not my thing sometimes, but Clint likes it.”

“Sure,” Phil said softly. “You have room?”

“’Course,” Steve said, ushering him into the room with the flickering TV. Bucky lifted a hand in greeting, and moved to the armchair. Steve flushed, forced onto the couch with Phil.

He should have never told Buck about Phil.

Then again, it had been his voice, or so he thought at the time, that was helping Bucky sleep. He didn’t think Bucky was actually listening to him ramble.

Steve settled on the couch, and Phil sat next to him, groaning as he got off his feet.

“How long were you out?” Steve asked.

“Since five-thirty,” Phil said. Bucky gave a low whistle.

“Good kid,” he said, sipping his beer.

“Yeah,” Phil said, smiling. “She is.”

They watched the rest of the episode in silence, Steve not really knowing what to do with his hands. Right at eight-thirty, Clint and Maggie returned, both carrying groaning, huge bags of candy, almost as tall as Maggie.

“Daddy! Uncle Hawkeye says Nat likes my costume!” she said. She climbed up into Phil’s lap and curled against his chest. “She said it was the best.”

Phil smiled. “I’m glad, Doodlebug.”

Steve nearly melted on the spot, Phil curled around this little girl with his eyes and hair that might have been Steve’s, calling her pet names. He’d inserted himself in the little family picture without realizing, and jerked himself up short.

That wasn’t his to hold.

He swallowed the rest of his beer and got up to get another.

“Did Steve like the costume?” Clint asked, wiggling his brows. “Someone has to appreciate it.”

Phil reddened. “Clint…”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked. “It was a nice complement to Maggie’s costume.”

“Yeah, it would be if he didn’t wear it every year.”

Steve’s eyes moved to Phil, who was red and looked as though he were going to sink into the couch and disappear.

“Well, I like it,” Steve declared. “I want another beer. Anyone else want one?”

He padded into the kitchen, and was surprised when Phil followed him.

“Cider?” he asked. Phil shook his head.

“No, thanks.” He glanced at Steve. “I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”

“Not at all,” Steve said. He popped the cap off another bottle and drank in long swallows, the alcohol not affecting him in the slightest. “In fact, it makes things easier.”

“Easier?” Phil said.

“Yeah,” Steve said. He set the bottle on the counter and turned to Phil. “I wanted to ask you out to dinner. I just never…really got the chance. I thought you were distancing yourself from the Avengers, from me. I see that’s not the case, though. Not with the little one.”

Phil swallowed. “Maggie’s everything.”

“I bet,” Steve said, not unkindly. He’d understood that fierceness in Phil, the need to have his daughter close so he could watch over her. “I’m not asking to take a lot of your time.”

“I know,” he said, looking up at Steve. “You sure, though? With Maggie…I’d understand if not.”

“I’m still pretty sure,” Steve said. “You wear my costume every year?”

“I…yeah,” he said. “I love…I like it a lot.”

Steve smiled. “It suits you.”

Phil looked up and Steve kissed him, tasting the apple of the cider on Phil’s tongue.

They broke away when a deafening shriek echoed into the kitchen, Maggie’s high pitched squeal making Phil shove past Steve to the living room. They stopped, mouths agape at the sight of Bucky Barnes flat on his back, tossing Maggie into the air with one arm.

“Hold tight, мало паук. Up we go!” Maggie shrieked again, her wig safely off and on Clint’s head instead as the archer laughed. Phil didn’t relax until Steve put a hand on his shoulder.

“He won’t drop her,” Steve murmured.

“I know,” Phil said, though Steve could still feel the thrum of his pulse beneath the pad of his thumb. “But you know…can’t be too careful.”

“Yeah,” Steve said.

“How does Friday night sound?” Phil said, his voice low beneath the lilt of voices in the other room.

“I think it sounds swell,” Steve said, smiling as he pressed close behind Phil, almost draping over him.

* * *

Phil met Jerry at long last, and tried not to be too unimpressed with the man. He had a weak handshake, a double chin, and he called Maggie sweetheart. His hackles stayed firmly down, and he only postured a little as he loaded Maggie’s things into the back of a Beamer.

He stank of the nouveau riche, and Phil didn’t like the condescending looks he was getting.

“That’s a nice car,” Jerry said, looking at Lola in the driveway. “That an antique?”

“You could say that,” Phil said softly. “She’s been real reliable.”

Jerry laid a hand on the trunk and whistled.

Phil tried to conceal his twitch.

“Tell her mother we ate healthy,” Phil said instead, trying to hide the way his hands clenched.

“Oh, sure. Week old pizza again?”

“Look, I don’t have to live with Holly anymore. You chose that,” Phil said. “But you know, you’ll save yourself a lot of trouble by not ratting me out. Because Jerry, I know about the con you pulled in ’76, selling real estate to seniors who didn’t know better.”

Jerry turned, paling.

“I have a lot of friends, Jerry. And I have a lot of resources. And if I wanted to, your books from your dummy corporations could make it into some _very_ interested hands. So. Let’s be nice, Jerry. Let’s be friends.”

Jerry’s upper lip was starting to sweat. Phil took a moment to savor that, then continued.

“My daughter’s not your sweetheart. She’s not your anything. I expect you to be kind to her, but she is, and always will be, my flesh and blood.” Phil watched the bead of sweat roll down Jerry’s neck. “So, what are you gonna tell Holly?”

“Baked chicken breasts and greens. No candy after seven. In bed by nine, homework done.”

Phil smiled, something wide and utterly false. “That’s great, Jerry. That’s real great. Thanks for being a pal.”

“You, uh, you got it.” Jerry climbed into his beamer.

Phil leaned into the back seat and kissed his daughter on the forehead.

“You be good for Mommy and Jerry, you hear?” he asked. “Daddy’s here if you need him.”

Maggie nodded. “My candy?”

“In the freezer. All ten pounds of it. I’ll keep Uncle Clint out of it.”

“Good.” Maggie smiled up at him. “I’ll see you in two weeks, right?”

“Counting the days, Doodlebug. Love you.” He kissed her forehead again, gave Jerry a wink, and then shut the car door.

Maggie waved until they turned the corner, and then Phil went inside to raid her candy stash. He was gonna need it.

**Author's Note:**

> Here in Iowa, Beggar's Night is the 30th, and that's when all the trick-or-treating happens. Contrary to popular belief, it's not because Halloween is considered the Devil's night. Back in the 30's, the Parks and Rec director of Des Moines was trying to cut down on vandalism on Halloween night.
> 
> Clint, being from Waverly, would know this.
> 
> Happy Halloween!
> 
> (Bucky is referring to Maggie as "Little Spider" there.)


End file.
